


Lightless miles, miles and miles

by PeterParkers7EvilExes (antimone_ii)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Dark!Tony, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Peter is in his early 20s, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex worker!Peter, Strangulation, Violence, mentions of cheating, tw: smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-11-05 11:59:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17918384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antimone_ii/pseuds/PeterParkers7EvilExes
Summary: Peter has one rule that's helped him stay alive the past 5 years: Don't get in the john's truck.Or: The one where Peter's working a truck stop for cash when he catches one particular trucker's eye, and Tony has to have him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags! Peter is in his 20s.
> 
> Based off this prompt: "slutty truck stop hooker Peter who’s fucking for cash and also because he likes having strangers fuck him, and morally ambiguous trucker Tony who isn’t above kidnapping Peter so he can get head while driving."

Peter has one rule that's helped him stay alive the past 5 years: Don't get in the john's truck. He'll suck cock behind the fueling station, let men fuck him up against their cargo, he even let one really hot driver handcuff him to a pipe in the bathroom and call him 'Mommy' while he fucked his face.

Peter likes what he does - sure, it was never in the plans but shit happened, and at least this way he gets a steady income, food in his belly, and an added bonus of maybe a couple of orgasms a day. So all that said, Peter has never once been tempted to bend or break his only rule. After all, he's heard enough horror stories of girls and boys like him who show up months later halfway across the country (as Captain Stacy never tires of reminding him every time she stops by the lot).

Luckily, most of Peter's clients are perfectly normal men with a normal amount of empathy, if a little on the kinky side. "Thank you for breeding my pussy, Mr. President," Peter says sweetly, batting his eyelashes at one of his regular clients, Ross.

Ross groans appreciatively and pulls out, using his soft cock to slap Peter's ass. "God, wish I could take you home with me," he sighs, not the first time he's voiced this desire.

Peter winks at him, pushing himself off the grimy brick wall and rolling the spent condom off Ross' soft dick. "And let me meet the missus? Don't you think it's a little soon, baby?" He lets Ross lean in and kiss him one more time, his breath stale from days on the road but the two crisp hundred dollar bills pressed into Peter's palm make his chapped lips taste a little bit sweeter.

He sees Ross off, the chug of his 16-wheeler raising up dust as he rolls back onto the highway. Peter sighs and tucks his earnings into his jeans, then makes his way into the cramped convenience store attached to the lot’s fueling station.

The bell above the door jingles, announcing his arrival and MJ looks up from her phone. "The usual, please," he says, leaning against the counter.

MJ rolls her eyes, spinning around in her chair behind the cash register to grab a pack of condoms and a fun-size bag of Skittles. "You're not cute, Parker. Also, that last guy looked like an extra hairy, stubbier Abe Lincoln."

Tearing open his pack of Skittles, Peter laughs and tucks the condoms into his back pocket. "Funny enough, he pays me almost double to call him Mr. President. Also he's nice, don't be rude. When's your shift end?"

"Ah." MJ's face twists into an apologetic grimace. "About that, Pete. I can't actually give you a ride tonight-- I'm sorry!" she cries, holding her hands up defensively at the hurt look Peter gives her. "My car broke down! But Gwen's giving me a ride if you want to come with."

Peter gives her a flat look, glumly shoving a handful of Skittles into his mouth. "Your girlfriend is turning out to be real inconvenient for business, MJ," he says as the doorbell jingles again.

"What business?" comes Gwen's voice from the door.

Peter spins around on his heel and smiles politely. "My burgeoning soap-making business, Captain Stacy!"

Gwen raises her eyebrows at Peter but comes over, leaning over the counter to give MJ a kiss. "That so, Parker? I'd love to buy something from you, help out a local business owner," she says, her bright blue eyes piercing into him.

"Ah, I don't think you'd be into the kinda soap I'm selling," Peter snorts, and when MJ snickers as well, Gwen gives her a chastising look.

"Don't test me, Parker," she warns. "There's only so much I can turn a blind eye to."

That nettles a bit. Like the cops have ever done anything but hurt him, all under the guise of protecting an orphaned, homeless kid. "Don't you have innocent children to drag from their only remaining families? Murders to ignore or something?" he snaps, his hands clenched into fists on the counter.

To his surprise, Gwen's face softens and she takes off her captain's hat. It always shocks him, seeing how young she really is when she lets down her walls like this - reminds him that they're about the same age, that if things had just... not gone to shit for him, maybe they would've graduated high school together, even become friends.

"I'm sorry," she says honestly. "I... Look," she sighs, combing a hand through her tight ponytail and meeting Peter's eyes with a firm sort of sincerity. "I just want you to be careful." When Peter purses his lips, she continues quickly, "I'm just saying, there's been a spike in people going missing from truck stops. So just... you know. Be aware, okay? Besides," she adds more lightly, reaching over the counter to punch MJ's shoulder and ignoring her indignant yelp, "MJ likes you, I guess. I can't explain it. And it'd suck if something happened to you, 'cause she'd be sad or whatever and she can't eat me out if she's crying."

MJ flushes pink but looks pleased. "You're a fucking psychopath, baby."

A little mollified, Peter shrugs his shoulders. “Message received, Captain Stacy,” he says placating, not really in the mood to argue with an officer of the law again - not tonight, in any case.

Through the smudged plexiglass window of the convenience store, he can see the headlights of a red 18-wheeler rolling in. He salutes Gwen and flips MJ off, shouting a goodbye over his shoulder as he walks back out to the dark lot.

The driver who steps out of the truck cab is about middle-aged, stocky build with a flannel rolled up at the sleeves and a baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes. The parking lot lighting is too dim and yellow to discern much of his features, but from what Peter can see, he’s definitely one of the more attractive men he’s met. Peter imagines a man with looks like that has got to have a wife at home - which means he’ll have been lonely on the road. Good odds.

“Hey sir!” he calls, approaching and waving his fingers at the man. He smiles as the man looks him up and down, dark inky eyes drinking him in hungrily. “How long you been driving?”

The man takes his cap off, sweeping his fingers through thick black hair as he looks Peter up and down like a piece of meat. “Little under twenty hours,” he says in a voice low and smooth, leaning against the cab of his truck. “You’re not auditing me, are you?”

Peter laughs, ducking his head and tugging at the hem of his shirt, revealing the sharp angles of his collarbones and not missing the way the man’s eyes flick down to watch the slow expanse of his skin. “I dunno sir,” he says with a shy little smile. “Do I look like a truck auditor?”

The man laughs, a handsome rich sound, and reaches in his flannel pocket to pull out a pack of American Spirits. “No,” he concedes, propping a cigarette between his lips. “Guess you don’t, kid.”

“Here,” Peter says, reaching in his jeans for a lighter. “Let me.” He steps forward into the man’s space and clicks the flint wheel, flame bursting forth from the tip. The man meets his eyes curiously but lowers his head, letting Peter light the end of his cigarette. As it catches cherry red, thin smoke rises from the end of the cigarette and the man watches him hungrily. Peter shivers, suddenly feeling like cornered prey.

“I’m Tony,” the man introduces himself, taking the cigarette from his lips and letting a smoky exhale vanish into the evening’s humid atmosphere.

“Hi Tony,” he says breathlessly. “You looking for any company tonight?”

Tony gives him a crooked smile, taking another drag. “You're sweet. What's your name?”

“Peter,” he says, licking his lips. “Can I?”

With a wry look, Tony reaches forward, gripping the back of Peter's neck in a firm, gentle hold and lifts the cigarette to his lips. “Pretty thing like you shouldn't smoke,” he murmurs, his voice low and and gravelly in Peter’s ear.

Peter shudders as he inhales, the acrid taste burning down his trachea. He holds it in his lungs, slowly exhaling through his nose, furls of pale gray smoke floating in the still air between them before it disperses in thin wisps. “So?” he presses, the remnants of cigarette smoke fading from his lips. “You wanna order me around some more, handsome?”

Tony gazes appraisingly at him, something flashing in his dark eyes. “No,” he says finally. “I can’t. But thank you for the offer,” he says politely, like they’re concluding a boardroom deal instead of discussing the commerce of Peter’s body.

Peter can’t lie to himself and say he isn’t a little disappointed. Something about Tony’s piercing eyes and the primal look in them makes his cock twitch and he feels certain that Tony would’ve been an excellent fuck. “Well,” he shrugs nonchalantly, turning to leave. “if you’re sure.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Tony calls, halting him in his tracks, “you’ve made quite an elevator pitch. Can I buy you dinner or a bus ticket outta town or something?”

Peter turns to look over his shoulder, batting his eyelashes. “Why sir,” he says in an exaggerated, sultry voice, “are you trying to take me out on a date?”

Tony laughs again, his face open and surprised. He’s really handsome when he laughs, Peter notes with some glumness. “I got a route to keep, kid,” he says, rapping his knuckles against the red of his truck cab. “But if I just cost you a meal, let me at least make it up to you.”

Hands on his hips, Peter huffs out a breath. “Are you implying that I’m a hooker? How d’you know I’m not just really slutty and looking to get laid?” he teases, although he’s grinning back at Tony. He should get home, a stern voice tells him, and stop flirting with a mid-tier sugar daddy who won’t even fuck him.

“Hey, easy,” Tony smirks, finishing off his cigarette and crushing it beneath his heel. “Nothing wrong with making a living wage. Besides,” he leans forward, his eyes glittering beetle black and intent in the dim evening, “You're such a sweet, gorgeous little thing, I hardly imagine you'd have to resort to a truck stop to get laid.”

Despite himself, Peter chews at his lower lip, unconsciously leaning forward into Tony's space. The man smells _good_ , like engine oil and cloves, and Peter thinks for a harebrained second about offering to fuck the guy, free of charge. That thought snaps him back. “Um,” he clears his throat, grateful the awful lot lighting can't give away his flushed face, “You're a real sweet talker, sir. But I'm not gonna take your charity. Thank you,” he adds earnestly with a smile.

Tony pulls his cap back on, tugging the brim low over his eyes again. “No problem, kid,” he says lightly. “Take care of yourself.”

Peter nods, walking backwards regretfully. “You too, sir. Drive safe.”

He continues watching over his shoulder as Tony goes to the fueling station seemingly unbothered by their interaction, before Peter remembers that he doesn't have a ride home.

“Damn you, Captain Stacy,” he swears under his breath. He could call a cab, but getting one all the way out in the middle of the freeway at this hour would cost him his next week's meals. He's better off hoofing it the two and a half miles back into town, he decides. Besides, he thinks, squinting up at the waxing moon above head, it's light enough outside that he can follow the road back.

As he walks along the wire fence of wheat fields that hem in the highway, Peter trudges home, feeling perhaps irrationally annoyed at Gwen Stacy. It isn't really her fault that MJ's car broke down, and he's sure that if he'd asked, she would've been more than happy to give him a ride home. But it's the principle of the thing, Peter thinks petulantly to himself, kicking a crushed beer can off to the side of the road.

As each set of headlights passes him by, he keeps an eye out for state troopers, hyper-vigilant since the last pair of clowns that picked him up had him cited for ‘public intoxication’ (untrue) and ‘trespassing’ (what's he supposed to do, walk _on the highway_?), and then thrown him in jail for the night for ‘resisting arrest’ ( _technically_ true).

It's not like the local cops don't know what he's really doing at the truck stop in the middle of the night - they're not quite that dumb, unfortunately. It's only been a combination of a lack of hard evidence and Captain Stacy somehow keeping her guys in line that Peter's really been able to continue working in relative safety. He should maybe be nicer to her, a reluctant little voice says (that sounds suspiciously like MJ). She doesn't represent all the wrongdoing that the entire institution of law enforcement has done to him.

_But_ , Peter counters himself, maybe kicking another beer can in front of him a little more violently than necessary, when Gwen's job is to literally stop him from making his livelihood, he can't let his guard down and get too cozy with _any_ cops.

He's still mid-tirade when he notices a set of headlights that lingers behind him a bit too long. Peter grits his teeth, expecting to have to justify himself to the power-addled state troopers again, but as he turns around, he's blinded by the massive beams of a semi-truck. Instantly, Peter tenses as the truck rolls to a stop just behind him, the only other occupant on the lonely highway.

He can't exactly outrun an 18-wheeler, nor does the wheat field offer much coverage. As he's frozen in place debating his best move, the window rolls down and he hears a familiar voice.

“Kid? Do you need a lift?”

Tony kills the engine and leans out the window, his handsome face wrinkled in concern.

“No, no thanks,” Peter says reflexively, his muscles easing a bit. “I thought you were a serial killer,” he jokes weakly.

Furrowing his brow, Tony unlocks the passenger door and swings it open. “Get in. This isn't charity,” he adds knowingly with a reassuring smile. “It's for my own ease of mind, kid, seriously.”

Peter worries at his lip, looking anxiously up at Tony. “You really don't have to do this, sir--”

“Tony.”

“ _Tony_. I can walk myself home fine, it's just another mile up--”

“Then it's not a big deal at all,” Tony interjects firmly. Another truck blazes by them then, blaring its horn indignantly at how haphazardly Tony's pulled over. “C'mon kid, hop in.”

Fuck it - Tony isn’t technically a john, he didn't even want to fuck Peter. He nods to himself and makes his way to the truck, holding onto the tall door handle and carefully climbing the metal steps up into the cab.

It's nicer inside than he’s expecting. The black leather seats are well-kept and clean and every button and switch on the dashboard looks polished. There are signs of Tony's long hours on the road - crumpled receipts and empty coffee cups in a little plastic bag, a sun-faded photo of Tony and another man in army fatigues grinning taped to the dash. There's a thick, light-blocking curtain behind the front seats that's pulled aside, and Peter can see a bit of the sleeper cab from where he’s sitting. It's cramped but just as tidy as the rest of the cab, holding just a twin-sized bunk, an ice box, and some stacked, clear plastic drawers filled with clothing.

“Nice place,” Peter says once he's snooped his fill.

“You sure you're not an auditor?” Tony grins, locking the doors and turning the ignition.

“Pretty sure. Thanks for the lift though, seriously. It's really nice of you.”

As he pulls them back onto the highway, Tony looks aside at him. “It's my pleasure,” he says with a little smile.

“So, um, it's really not that far,” Peter says, leaning forward so he make out the signs in the glare of the truck’s headlights. “The next exit for Forest Hills is me. You'll take a right off the exit ramp and then a left.”

“Sure,” Tony says lightly, his voice harder to pick out as the truck picks up speed, rumbling loudly beneath them. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel while he digs around in the driver's door compartment for something.

“Um, it's coming up,” Peter says, realizing they're not slowing down as the exit ramp comes into view. They whiz by it. “Uh, Tony, that-- that was the exit,” he says, his voice polite even as alarm bells start humming in the back of his brain.

“Oh, did I miss it?” Tony asks with concern, his inky eyes flicking across to Peter.

Fuck. “It's okay, I can just hop out here,” Peter says quickly. “Can-- Can you pull over?”

Tony looks at him and smiles, and a chill shudders down Peter's spine. “It's okay Peter,” he says coolly as if they're discussing where to stop for breakfast. “We’ll keep going for a bit.”

Peter can see his hands beginning to shake in his lap, and he presses them tight to his knees. “There’s another exit ramp in about three miles,” he says as calmly as he can, forcing the tremble out of his voice. “Can you make a U-turn there?”

Tony doesn’t answer, just looks serenely at the road ahead, one wrist draped over the steering wheel and completely unbothered.

Moving as slowly as he can, Peter’s eyes flick to the passenger side door and he leans his head back a little, trying to see how fast they’re going on the dash. It can’t be more than 70 miles per hour, but it’s a long, hard fall to the ground, and the highway shoulder is hard, unforgiving gravel. He’ll be lucky if he only breaks a few bones.

They pass the next exit ramp and Peter tries one more time. “Tony?”

“Hm?” Tony doesn’t look at him, just keeps driving and staring at the road ahead.

“Pull over. Please.”

“I’m not gonna do that, sweetheart,” Tony says, low and composed. _Fuck_. Peter makes his move.

He grabs at the door and flicks the lock, but when he yanks at the handle, nothing happens. He yanks again - the handle clicks uselessly but the door doesn’t budge, and Peter scrabbles at the window, finding that this too won’t roll down. He turns to look at Tony, his heartbeat pounding in his ears and adrenaline racing in his veins.

Tony is looking at him now and his lips are curled up in a smirk, his eyes dark with that hunger again. In his other hand, he’s holding a thin, black taser and he clicks the switch in a clear threat, electricity sparking between the two needles. “I made this myself, you know,” he says offhandedly. “Delivers 100,000 volts per pulse with modified electrodes that make for a _much_ more efficient shock, enough to paralyse a full-grown man for up to 10 minutes after a 5-second cycle.”

“Pull over,” Peter demands, pressing his back into the door and watching the taser warily.

“I had to have you,” Tony says, somewhat apologetically, his eyes flicking between Peter and the road. “I wasn’t going to. I let you go, back at the truck stop - God, it was hard, but I did it. And then, seeing you walking along the highway?” Tony laughs, a cold, cruel noise that makes Peter bite down a whimper. “It was like you were _giving_ yourself to me. Laid out pretty on a platter.”

Peter is shaking so hard, he can feel his elbow trembling against the cold glass of the window, sure to leave a bruise. “ _Pull over_ ,” he says again, his voice cracking, betraying his fear.

“You’re going to behave for me,” Tony says, smooth as silk, like Peter hadn’t interrupted him. He looks across at him, desire swimming in his dark pupils. “And in return, I promise you Peter, I’m gonna take care of you.”

Peter lunges. He throws himself across the cab and grabs at the steering wheel, but Tony is expecting him. The older man boxes him in the jaw soundly and, as he tries to reorient himself, Tony backhands him across the face so hard he tastes blood exploding over his tongue.

“You’re _brave_ ,” Tony growls, his voice feral and low. Stars swim in Peter’s vision and every little movement sends a jolting pain through his skull. He pushes himself upright against the dashboard and grabs at the wheel again - his fingers close around the black leather and he pulls - he can't tell if he's actually throwing the truck off the road or if the lurching is the dizzying nausea building up in his brain. He feels Tony's hand close, tight and bruising over his wrist. “I'm going to _enjoy_ you.”

“Stop,” Peter gasps, and he feels twin needles piercing the meat of his thigh, then an agonizing pain shoots through him, locking up every muscle in his body. As he collapses uselessly across Tony's lap, his vision blurs out at the edges and the man's glittering black eyes meet his.

Tony grins, baring white teeth, and Peter slips under.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The early morning hours are Tony’s favorite. The winding black highway stretches out cold and endless in front of him, and if it weren’t for the steady breathing of his captive in the sleeper cab, he might even feel lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNINGS AHOY:** Graphic non-con (rape) scene. Includes restraints, physical violence, strangulation, gaslighting. 
> 
> Please read with caution!

The early morning hours are Tony’s favorite. The winding black highway stretches out cold and endless in front of him, and if it weren’t for the steady breathing of his captive in the sleeper cab, he might even feel lonely.

Tony likes his job. It’s physical, takes concentration and makes him work with his hands. (He drags Peter’s limp body into the sleeper cab, setting him down on the cot and he marvels at how light and pliable he is - like a doll.)

He’s not a sedentary man, and the constant travel makes him feel at ease, puts his whirring mind to rest. (Curious, he flips through the boy's pockets. He finds an old iPhone with a shattered screen. He wipes it down, smashes it outside and hurls the shards into the woods along the highway. He also finds an empty candy wrapper, an unopened box of condoms and a wad of cash. These he pockets, tracing his fingers reverently over his new souvenirs.)

He doesn’t mind the lifestyle. Enjoys it, even. He keeps his sleeper cab clean and looks after himself. He finds comfort in knowing that all his worldly belongings could fit within a few cardboard boxes. (Tony makes a daisy-chain from industrial-strength zip ties and binds the boy’s wrists together, tethering him to the grab handle above the cot and leaving just enough slack to manhandle him around.)

This life, the constant movement and easy camouflage allows him to blend into blurred freeways, it gives him a liberty he’s always craved.

Tony drives on for two more hours before his guest wakes up. It starts with a quiet moaning, then he hears some slight shifting as Peter tests his restraints, then rapid, shallow breathing as he realizes he can't get free.

It takes another twenty minutes for the boy to start screaming.

“Let me _go_ ,” he cries, his voice high and broken, and it makes Tony's blood thump in anticipation. “Let me go you fucking psycho, let me out of here!”

He drives on as long as he can, listening intently to every shrill sob and plea the boy makes. He’s aching hard and he wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into his new treat, but Tony knows how important it is to put distance between them and the original location.

It's 3 in the morning when his resolve finally breaks. Peter's screaming has since faded into little hopeless cries but he seems to have tired himself out, no more sounds of scuffling and struggling coming from the sleeper cab.

As Tony slows the truck down and rolls them into a dingy empty rest stop, the boy's fearful breathing picks up and it sounds like he's working himself toward hyperventilation. Tony kills the engine and crawls back into the sleeper cab, and he snaps the dark curtains shut tight behind him.

It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, but when the shaking body on his cot comes into focus, Tony's blood pulses loud in his ears. Peter is gorgeous. He’s worth every bit of the risk.

The boy is huddled in the far corner of the cot, his bound wrists held up defensively in front of him as he watches Tony approach, his sweet brown eyes wide with equal terror and anger.

“Let me go,” Peter demands, his voice trembling even as he holds his chin up in brave defiance.

Tony stands at the foot of the cot and drinks in Peter's body greedily, memorizing the slender angle of his hips, the soft skin of his belly revealed under his rumpled shirt. His lip is split and reddened with dried blood from where Tony had been forced to hit him and his wrists are rubbed raw, blood welling to the surface of his skin where he's been yanking and struggling fruitlessly against the plastic zip ties.

“I haven’t wanted someone like this in a long time,” Tony confesses, sitting on the edge of the cot. Peter twitches and presses himself further into the corner of the sleeper. “And I certainly didn’t expect to find someone like _you_.”

Peter’s face twists in derision. “What, you mean a _whore_? Do you normally paralyze and kidnap princesses or rich politicians?”

Tony barks out a laugh, loud and delighted. “I mean _this_ ,” he explains, leaning toward his guest hungrily. “You’re fiery. I like that.” He reaches out, cups the boy’s face in his palm and grins when he flinches in terror. “Back at the lot, you _offered_ yourself to me.” He digs his thumb into the boy’s cheek, pressing between his teeth and forcing his pink lips apart. “That was incredibly stupid.”

Something like desperation flashes in Peter’s eyes and he raises his bound wrists, struggling away from Tony’s grip. “A free fuck? Is that what you want?” Tony lets him go, watches in amusement as the boy tugs at his wrists again and hisses through his teeth as the zip tie drags against raw skin. “I can do that, I won’t go to the cops or anything, I swear. Just-- just untie me, and I’ll fuck you or suck you off, whatever you want.”

Tony shakes his head. “It’s more than that.” He wants to own Peter, to _possess_ him so thoroughly he’ll want for nothing more than to be Tony’s. “I’m going to take care of you,” he vows, wrapping a hand around Peter’s skinny ankle and dragging him down the mattress.

Peter yelps and kicks out at him, managing to knock the wind out of Tony for a second. He’s pleased that the boy has so much fight left in him but he swings a leg over Peter’s flailing body and straddles him, pinning his legs in place. His hand snakes up to the front of Peter’s throat, his fingers curling in a clear threat around that delicate windpipe.

That seems to still Peter - he huffs for breath, staring up at Tony with wild, fearful eyes.

“I don't wanna kill you,” Tony says truthfully, “But I _will_ if you're more trouble than you're worth.” He lets his fingers tighten, and Peter’s eyes widen in dread. “Am I understood?”

The boy nods slowly, his terror finally overtaking his bravery in the light of Tony’s threat. Tony loosens his fingers just a bit, sliding his other hand under the hem of Peter’s shirt, greedily taking in the smooth expanse of his skin.

“That’s it,” he coos, smiling when Peter’s pulse quickens but he obediently holds still. “Fuck, look at you.” He scrapes a fingernail gently over a pink nipple, groaning when Peter convulses underneath him, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breath. “I know you’re scared sweetheart,” he says sympathetically, twisting his other nipple just to watch him squirm. “But I’m gonna make you feel good. You’re gonna come on my cock baby, you’re gonna feel so good.”

Peter lets out a ragged exhale, seeming to realize what’s about to happen. “Wait, please--” he gasps, blinking back tears as Tony yanks his shirt up, twisting the fabric around his wrists. There are faint bruises along Peter’s ribs and down his sides, marks in the shapes of large fingers wrapping around his hips, evidence of his occupation.

Tony’s blood boils as he takes this in, stares at the blemishes that other men have left, their claims to _his_ property. He planned on being gentle, on proving to Peter how well-cared for he would be, but everything in Tony now wants to sink his own bruises into Peter’s skin, tear his teeth into soft flesh and see the boy smeared in his come.

He growls and pushes Peter down onto his stomach, the corded zip ties tangling around his shaking shoulders as he holds back fearful whimpers. Tony sits himself on the backs of Peter’s legs and pulls the waistband of his jeans down thick, gorgeous thighs. Tony roughly squeezes and pinches his naked flesh, groaning when the boy jumps underneath him, a wrecked little sob escaping.

“Don't worry angel,” Tony murmurs as he spreads the boy’s round cheeks apart, his cock twitching as he exposes Peter's little hole. “I'm gonna take care of you, remember?” It infuriates him knowing that others have used him already, fucked him like a cheap toy, like Peter isn't the most perfect, angelic thing to have stumbled into those men's grimy, undeserving palms. His fingers dig into Peter's tender skin leaving behind red imprints in his possessive anger. “They used condoms, didn't they?”

It takes Peter a moment to register the question, so Tony fists a hand in his hair and shakes him by the head. “Y- Yes,” he groans, and Tony drops his face back into the pillow.

“Good.” Tony lowers himself over Peter and slowly, he licks a long, wide stripe from his balls up to his pink hole. Peter bucks violently under him and Tony's quick to smack a warning strike against the swell of his ass. “You belong to _me_ now,” he growls, “I'm gonna paint you in my come, sweetheart. Never gonna forget who owns you.”

This makes Peter cry again, and he turns his face to the side, his legs kicking feebly under Tony's weight. “Please, please _don't_ ,” he hiccups, his body betraying his very words as he arches into Tony's tongue, so deliciously responsive to his captor's touch as Tony spears his tongue into his tight little fuckhole.

Laving and sucking at that tender rim, Tony spares him no mercy as he licks into the boy's spasming hole, spit dripping into the crease of his ass and soaking his inner thighs. Tony can't remember being this hard in a long time - he squeezes himself around the base, staving off his own pleasure so he can give this perfect boy every bit of attention he deserves.

When he's able to thrust his tongue into the boy's hole with little resistance, he adds an index finger, pushing it in quickly alongside his raping tongue. Peter's hole grips his finger nice and tight but he doesn't react otherwise, still huffing and mumbling incoherent pleas into the mattress.

“Little slut,” Tony spits, thrusting in a second finger. This one makes Peter jump. He tries to squirm away and Tony sits up, pinning his other hand over the nape of his neck. “Stay _still_ ,” he warns, sheathing his fingers in to the knuckle, groaning as Peter's silky walls clutch at him like he's trying to keep him out and suck his fingers in all at once.

“ _No-o-o_ ,” Peter moans, his body writhing almost involuntarily as Tony fucks in deeper, the pads of his fingers reaching that ridged surface inside, milking his pleasure against his will. “P- Please, _stop_ ,” Peter cries, smothering his face into the pillow. Tony doesn't miss the slight roll of his hips into the mattress, his body seeking friction even as he shakes his head helplessly.

“That's it, let yourself feel good.” Tony lowers himself over his trembling body, pressing kisses and scraping his teeth over Peter's neck and shoulders as he adds two more fingers until he's fucking him quick and hard on his hand, dragging him towards his unwanted orgasm.

“Wish you could see yourself,” he grunts, every thrust of his palm slapping against Peter's ass lewd and sloppy. “Next time I'll fist you baby, wear you like a pretty glove and have you coming on my wrist, _squealing_ for it like a little puppet, huh?”

“ _Don't--!_ ” Peter sobs as he comes. Shameful and desperate, he grinds skinny hips into the mattress, his ass clutching tight like a vice around Tony's hand.

“You like that, don't you?” Tony gloats, pulling his fingers out one by one, staring transfixed as that needy little hole grasps at his fingers like it can't bear to be empty. He flips Peter over onto his back, untwisting the boy from his makeshift chain and he licks the come splattered off his taut belly, moaning at the taste.

Shuddering, Peter raises his bound hands and bats at him weakly, but Tony just laughs and pins his wrists over his head.

He grabs a slender leg and pushes it down into Peter's chest, folding him in half and showing off that tempting hole again. “There we go, baby.” Tony settles himself between the boy's spread thighs and slowly ruts into the cleft of his ass, letting Peter feel how hard he is. “You're gonna look so good on my cock,” he tells Peter, smiling when he turns his pretty face away with a wrecked whimper.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” Tony says in a kind but firm voice. When Peter refuses, Tony's forced to grip him by the throat and turn his face to meet his. “ _Look_ at me, Peter,” he growls dangerously.

The boy blinks open teary eyes, gasping when Tony curls his fingers tight around the delicate column of his neck.

“You don't wanna make me more upset,” he admonishes, rubbing his thumb gently over the boy's hyoid bone, applying just enough pressure to send home the threat.

“Please don’t,” Peter whispers, his throat bobbing warm and fragile under Tony’s palm.

Unable to resist his sweet words, Tony grips him tight and presses a fond kiss to the corner of the boy’s mouth, then licks his tongue against the shell of his ear, nipping and teasing at the sensitive skin until Peter’s crying again, salty tears running down the sides of his face. Tony licks those away too.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, relaxing his fingers just a bit. “I told you I wouldn’t kill you if you behaved.”

Peter whimpers but he nods his head slowly, fresh tears streaming down his face. Tony doesn’t mind the tears - relishes them, even. He smiles and presses a rewarding kiss to the boy’s temple, then sits back on his heels and carefully releases his throat. “Now, Peter. Look at me.”

The boy obeys this time, large, watery eyes blinking open to meet Tony’s gaze. A possessive, hungry pride swells in Tony’s chest.

“Good boy.” He wraps a hand around himself and guides the tip between Peter’s thighs, rubbing his slippery cockhead nice and slow against the boy’s pink opening. “Keep your eyes on me or I’ll snap your pretty little neck,” he warns, and then he pushes in, groaning as Peter’s body fights to keep him out - until Tony’s cockhead breaches him, squeezed almost painfully tight by that resistant little fuckhole.

Peter shudders, glaring adorably up at Tony through dark, wet eyelashes as he’s slowly impaled on his captor’s cock. He feels so _good_ , Tony grunts and keeps sinking in until he’s shoved as deep inside the boy’s tight, perfect ass as he can get.

Tony hauls Peter's legs up into the air and he pulls back, groaning low in his chest at the delicious squeeze of his walls all around him - so shy before but now so hungry for Tony's cock, he's practically sucking him back in. He bends that lithe body into the mattress and fucks into him again, a deep, plundering thrust that nudges against the boy's prostate.

Peter's back arches off the mattress in a graceful bow and he barely stifles a moan, his little cock twitching from where it lays half-hard on his belly. He glares at Tony again, humiliated tears streaking down his cheeks as Tony leers down at him then rolls his hips in deep circles, letting his bulbous cockhead massage that tender spot inside of him.

“Stop,” Peter mewls, but they both know it's a useless plea - Tony only hitches his legs up higher, humping relentlessly into that same spot and watching hungrily as Peter's cock fills against his will, tangible proof between them that Tony's not the only one getting off to this.

Tony fucks into him harder, moaning as he draws near his release, already close from playing with his new toy for so long. “Oh _fuck_ , sweetheart, you feel so good.” Tony digs his fingers into the soft curves of the boy's ass, pulling him harsh onto his cock with each thrust. “I'm never letting you go,” he promises, ignoring Peter's miserable little whine. “You're made for me, aren't you baby? Look at your cute dick, you like how it feels, huh?” He leers at him, swiping a thumb over the leaking head of the boy's cock, reminding him of his own pleasure. “You love it. Being _owned_ \- being _mine_.”

Peter shakes his head violently, turning his face away. “ _Fuck_ you!” he cries in one last show of defiance, and Tony sighs, seizing him around his neck again. His eyes flit fearfully up to Tony, but it's too late.

Tony squeezes his hand down, steadily increasing the pressure even as he continues pumping his cock into that warm little fuckhole. Peter's lips move soundlessly and Tony bares his teeth at him in an unpleasant grin. “Well-behaved boys get to live,” he reminds Peter, watching as those expressive brown eyes brim with tears, his face flushing as his oxygen cuts off. Peter kicks his legs feebly but Tony just bears down on him, fucking harder into his ass while he squeezes the life from him.

He regrets that he didn't get to keep Peter for long, that the boy's hot-blooded nature, the very flame that attracted Tony to him was the final transgression. He certainly doesn't want to do this, but he's laid out his expectations for Peter clearly enough and he's never suffered a disobedient bedpartner.

Tony watches mournfully as Peter's lips turn blue and gorgeous, terrified tears roll down his cheeks. He can't deny the pang of loss he feels - he's never sunk his cock into something quite so perfect as Peter.

He has every intent to make good on his threat, when Peter's cock twitches and he comes, shooting his shameful release across his belly and over Tony's chest. Humiliated tears spill freely down Peter’s cheeks, and then those pretty brown eyes roll back in his head as he slips into unconsciousness.

Tony moans and curses, fingers slowly unclenching from around the boy’s throat. Peter's head lolls back onto the pillow limply but his chest shudders as he inhales, color slowly returning to his sweet face. Tony's cock throbs painfully inside of Peter and he's certain he's never been this hard in his life.

He fucks into Peter's hole fast and hard, chasing his own pleasure and he comes with a groan, stars exploding in his vision as he pumps his seed into that incredible, tight heat. It's the best orgasm he's ever had, and as Tony huffs for breath, coming down from his high, he stares admiringly at Peter's relaxed, angelic face, the boy's own come splattered over his chin. Tony realizes with a breathless little chuckle that he really is going to keep Peter forever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have no family,” Tony says, his voice ice cold and sharp. “Your mother died when you were ten and your last living relative is in the Crossroads Correctional Center.” Peter feels like a crushing weight has landed hard on his chest, squeezing the oxygen from his lungs. “No one’s put in a missing persons report for you, no one even _cared_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNINGS AHOY:** Non-con (rape) scene, physical violence, strangulation, graphic depictions of death, gaslighting. As always, _DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!_
> 
> Please read with caution!

The first thing Peter registers when he wakes up is  _pain_. Sunlight filters into the room, piercing his closed eyes and sending a spike of agony through his head. Groaning, he rolls his face into the pillow, sighing in relief when the silky material provides some measure of shade. He realizes dimly that he’s never owned a pillow this soft, and slowly, the last few hours filter back into reality.

A cold dread filling his veins, Peter lifts his head, taking stock of his surroundings. The truck is still rumbling which means Tony’s up in the cab. He forces himself to sit up despite his pounding headache, and he looks down at himself. 

He’s wearing a black tee that hangs loose over his shoulders and a pair of sweatpants rolled a few times around the waist. Humiliation floods him, realizing as he shifts in place that Tony must have cleaned his lower half after he’d finished with him, then dressed him in his own clothes.

The zip-ties have been replaced by two leather cuffs, thick and heavy around his wrists and chained to the grab handle above the cot. He pulls at his restraints experimentally, but there’s no give - although the leather cuffs don’t bite into his wrists the way the zip-ties had.

He’s desperately thirsty, and no sooner does this thought cross his mind when he spots a plastic water bottle and a power bar sitting in the corner of the cot. Peter eyes Tony’s offerings warily, but his resolve cracks under his body’s needs. He picks up the bottle and, seeing it’s still sealed, opens it and downs half the water. He leaves the power bar alone, although the bruises around his throat are testament that Tony could have killed him anytime he wanted to.

Peter tries getting up but his cuffs keep him from sitting further than the edge of the cot. He stretches a leg out, seeing what he can reach in the cramped sleeper cab, but even the plastic set of drawers is beyond his range.

As he kicks a leg out desperately, balancing on the edge of the cot, the truck hits a pothole and he lurches off the bed, crying out in pain as his arms are yanked taut at the shoulders. Breathing hard, Peter clambers back onto the cot and tucks his knees into his chest but it’s too late - the truck seems to be slowing down, pulling off to the side until it comes to a stop, massive tires crunching onto a gravelled shoulder.

The engine shuts off and there’s a shuffling noise, then a familiar figure draws the curtain and Tony joins him in the sleeper cab.

Peter’s not sure how much time has passed since he lost consciousness, but Tony’s changed clothes - he’s wearing a pair of dark wash jeans and a navy henley, his baseball cap pulled low over his handsome face. “You made a noise,” Tony says matter-of-factly, standing at the foot of the cot and looking Peter over appraisingly.

“I fell,” Peter says lamely. He flinches as Tony sits down on the cot beside him and grips his chin, forcing his head up.

“You alright?” Tony murmurs, his face the picture of kind concern.

Annoyance flashes across Peter’s face despite his terror. “Would be a lot better if you let me go,” he can’t help snarking, and when Tony just laughs like he’s told a joke, his stomach sinks in cold fear.

“You must be hungry.” Tony stoops over the icebox and pulls out a plastic container, holding it out to Peter. “Chicken salad and a milkshake. You look like you’d like chocolate, so.”

Peter eyes him distrustfully. “I’m not touching that,” he says, his pulse quickening when that dangerous look gleams in Tony’s eyes again.

“We can get you something else,” Tony says in an even voice, like they’re just debating which fast food place to stop at. “What do you want to eat?”

Shaking his head firmly, Peter tucks his knees into his chest. “I wanna go home,” he says, hating how broken his voice sounds. “Please, Tony.” The man’s eyes soften at the use of his name and, encouraged, Peter presses on. “I won’t tell anyone, I  _swear_ , I’ll say I got-- got lost, I won’t mention you at all.” Inspiration strikes him and he adds, “My family will be looking for me - my mom’s probably worried sick, they’ve probably called the cops but I promise, I’ll tell them I just ran--”

“You have no family,” Tony cuts in, his voice suddenly ice cold and sharp. “Your mother died when you were ten and your last living relative is in the Crossroads Correctional Center.” Peter feels like a crushing weight has landed hard on his chest, squeezing the oxygen from his lungs. “No one’s put in a missing persons report for you, no one even  _cared_.”

Peter shakes his head again thinking of MJ. Surely she would have realized he was gone by now - right? “You’re wrong,” he says, even as the sickening truth of Tony’s words sinks in.

“Am I?” Tony kneels in front of Peter, looking up at him like he’s consoling a blubbering child. “Your whole life, people have only failed you and  _left_ you, Peter. But I’m here now. I said I was gonna take care of you, didn’t I?” He cups Peter’s face, forces him to meet glittering black eyes. “I care about you, Peter. You belong to me now.”

His hands are shaking in his lap again. Peter closes his eyes as Tony leans up and kisses him, his lips soft and warm on his. When he doesn’t resist, the older man groans and wraps thick fingers in his hair, tugging and massaging gently at his scalp and Peter gasps as Tony’s tongue pushes between his lips, licking possessively into his mouth.

He thinks about biting down, fighting back however he can - but like Tony’s read his mind, a hand settles over the base of his throat, squeezing just gently enough to serve as a reminder. Peter whimpers and lies back, letting Tony push him down onto the cot and pin him to the mattress, kissing him hungrily and stroking large hands over the trembling expanse of his body.

He  _hates_ how good it feels, his body involuntarily reacting to Tony’s touches and he barely bites back a startled moan as Tony lowers himself over him, scraping teeth over the vulnerable skin of his throat, leaving red marks behind in his wake. A warm thigh presses between his legs, heavy against his cock, and Peter whimpers in fear.

“I have to pee!” he shouts suddenly, scrambling backwards up the bed.

Tony blinks down at him, that hungry look in his face receding. “Do you?” he asks, the corner of his lip twitching up like he finds Peter funny.

Nodding, Peter squirms out from under Tony, pushing himself to the head of the cot. “Please,” he adds quietly.

Tony looks at him for a long moment, sitting back on his heels and just staring at Peter, his dark eyes boring into him like he’s reading his every panicked thought. “Alright,” he says at last, and Peter’s shoulders sag in relief.

He takes a small key from his ring and unfastens the leather cuffs from the chain connecting Peter to the grab handle, although he keeps the cuffs on him. “Up,” he says, his hand going to the back of Peter’s neck like he’s guiding a disobedient dog.

Standing on wobbly legs, Peter totters forward, wincing at the slight ache throughout his body. He lets Tony lead him down the high steps of the cab and he blinks as his eyes adjust to the sunlight, looking around them curiously. It’s maybe late morning on a long stretch of a two-lane highway, and beyond the hulk of Tony’s truck blocking the rest of the road from view, he doesn’t hear any other vehicles passing by.

In front of them stretches a large cornfield, green stalks reaching toward the blue sky and hemmed in by sparse woods to the side. It’s open and wide, providing just enough cover that Peter’s mind races, his body thrumming with adrenaline in preparation for flight.

Like in anticipation, Tony squeezes tight around the back of his neck and leads him into the thick stalks of corn before them. Peter’s still barefoot from when Tony had stripped him, and he’s sure that’s intentional as he slowly picks his way over the uneven earth, wincing when jagged stones and gravel dig into the soles of his feet.

“Don’t I get any privacy?” he complains, shivering as a breeze rolls over the flat plains and bites at his skin, tall stalks of corn scratching his face as Tony steers him deeper into the field.

“That’s something you earn,” Tony tells him firmly, tugging him to a stop.

Face flushed with humiliation, Peter turns his body away from Tony as much as he can before he relieves himself. Tony’s hand stays tight on the back of his neck, pinching near painfully to keep him from bolting, but Peter’s mind is working fast.

As he keeps his body turned away, he scans what little he can see of the horizon through the corn stalks, figuring that the woods to the left of them are probably closer. He won’t make it far running - not barefoot and hands still bound together - so his best bet is to find someone along the way and pray that he can stay ahead of Tony for that long. His mind set, Peter grits his teeth and finishes up, turning back to Tony.

“Done?” Tony asks, his voice almost paternal. “We’ll get you something else to eat once we hit--”

Peter twists around and strikes out with his bound fists, knocking Tony back in the chest hard enough to break his grip on him. Tony staggers back and he looks up at Peter with such malice in his black eyes, it makes his blood freeze. Quickly, Peter draws his knee up and kicks out as hard as he can, catching Tony in the stomach and throwing him to the ground, then he turns and runs.

Adrenaline spikes through him, almost dizzying as he sprints through the tall corn and in his plight Peter is impervious to pain. The dense crops make it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead of him, and all he has to navigate with is the blue of the sky above and knowing that the woods are somewhere further ahead. Coarse stalks whip at his face and snag at his hair, and the sharp debris from years of upturned earth and machinery beneath his bare feet goes unnoticed as he runs for his life.

He can’t hear anything behind him, the thumping of his own heart and the whistle of the wind drowning everything else out, so he turns over his shoulder for a moment, half-expecting to see Tony’s hand reaching out to grab him - but tall stalks of corn just wave serenely in his wake,  undisturbed by any predator. He lets out a sob of relief and goes faster, hardly daring to believe that he might make it.

Peter bursts out of the cornfield and into the woods, and he pauses for a second to take in his surroundings. He can’t run to the road - Tony may have returned to his truck and there’s no guarantee any other cars would drive by, let alone stop for him. Making his choice, he turns away from the road and through the woods to the right, thinking he may stand a chance of losing Tony if he keeps going.

Although he can now see more than a few feet in front of him, the woods are harder to navigate. Sharp twigs and jagged rocks underfoot are harder to ignore, and he cries out in pain when a massive branch whips at his face, cutting his cheek. He doesn’t stop though, doesn’t waste anymore time looking behind him - he holds his arms out in front of him as a makeshift shield and sprints to his unknown destination.

Through the sparse woods, he sees an end to the treeline up ahead - yellowed grass stretches out beyond the edge of the trees and as he draws closer, Peter can make out the faded tin roof of an English barn and a rusted red pickup truck parked out front. A hysterical laugh escapes him as he breaks out of the treeline.

There’s no one in the pickup truck, but Peter can feel the warmth radiating off of the engine so he makes his way to the barn’s entrance, his fatigue catching up with him now that he’s so close to freedom. “Hello? Is anyone here?” he calls, peering into the open side of the barn. He wanders inside, dread prickling up his spine. “Please, I need help!”

Bales of sun-bleached hay are stacked high against the walls, lining the walls of the barn from edge to edge. A bucket of rusted tools caked in earth is propped up near the door, polyester ropes thrown carelessly into the bucket like someone’s been working in a hurry, but it’s otherwise empty, no farmhands to be seen.

Peter calls out again, peering behind the tall stacks of hay like he’ll find someone hiding there. “Anyone? Please, I just need to use a phone!”

There’s a metallic clicking noise behind him, and Peter whirls around. A man stands at the mouth of the barn, pointing a hunting rifle at him. “What d’you want?” the man asks gruffly, eyeing Peter with suspicion.

Despite the fact that he’s got a loaded weapon aimed right at him, relief floods Peter. “Please sir,” he repeats as calmly as he can, holding his bound wrists up. “I just need to use a phone.”

“Why’d you come onto my property for?” The man scans him over, eyes narrowing as he takes in Peter’s disheveled clothing, the bruises on his throat and the blood smeared across his face. “You high?”

“No, no, I’m in trouble,  _please_ ,” Peter says, taking a step forward -- the man jerks his rifle at him in alarm, and Peter stops in his tracks.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warns, a hint of fear in his voice as he stares at Peter. “I don’t want no trouble.”

Peter holds his hands up pleadingly in front of him. “I’m not looking to cause any trouble, sir. I know it’s-- I escaped from this guy, he’s a  _psycho_ , he kidnapped me and h-- hurt me. Please, can I just use your phone?”

The man’s grip relaxes around his gun just a bit, although his face is still pinched in distrust. “That’s quite a tale,” he says slowly.

Desperation creeping into his voice, Peter shakes his head. “I know, I  _know_ \-- but I swear, I just need help. Please, sir.”

And then, a horrible, familiar voice -- “What’s going on here?” Tony stands illuminated in the barn’s doorway, a concerned expression on his face. “I heard hollering from the road, is everything okay?”

Peter falters backwards, panic lighting up his every nerve. “That’s him,” he croaks, his voice shaking with renewed fear. “That’s him, he’s the one who kidnapped me --  _please_ sir, you have to believe me!”

Tony gives Peter a sympathetic smile, folding his hands behind his back. “He alright?” he asks the other man, not taking his glittering eyes off of Peter.

The man looks between the two of them, clearly comparing Tony’s neat, put-together clothes, his clean trimmed beard and his calm demeanor against Peter -- dirty and bloodied in ill-fitting clothes, skittish and out of his mind with terror. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” the man says slowly, lowering his gun reluctantly, “but you can explain yourself at the police station, young man.” He turns back to Tony, grimacing apologetically. “Freakin’ junkies. You don’t really know him, do you?”

Tony shrugs a shoulder, taking a step forward. “He’s mine,” he says, and then he whips a coil of rope around the man’s neck and crosses his arms and draws it tight.

“ _No!_ ” Peter screams as the man flails and drops his gun, hands flying to the rope around his neck. “Stop, let him go--  _don’t kill him_!” He runs at Tony and tries to grab at the rope, but Tony just tugs the man higher by the neck, raising his kicking feet off the ground as he asphyxiates, awful, guttural noises spluttering from his mouth as his skin turns reddish purple. “ _Stop_ ,” Peter sobs, clawing at Tony’s wrists uselessly even as the man’s desperate kicking catches him in the stomach and knocks the wind out of him. “Don’t kill him-- I’ll go with you,  _stop it!_ ”

This gives Tony pause. He trains his eyes on Peter’s, cruel resolve hardening his dark pupils. “You’re sweet,” he says, and with a grunt, he twists the rope around his hands and snaps it tight - a horrible  _crack_ resonates throughout the barn and the man goes limp, his feet finally stopping their frantic kicking.

Peter’s gaze lowers to meet the man’s - they’re bulging and terrified even in death, burst blood vessels blossoming along the sclera of his eyes. He staggers away from Tony, heart pounding painfully against his ribcage and he collapses against a haystack, bile rising and burning his esophagus. He hears the heavy  _thump_ of a body behind him and he dry-heaves, his empty stomach turning up nothing as he grabs onto the bales of hay to ground himself, tears streaming from his eyes.

Calloused fingers twist in his hair and tug his head back, and he scrabbles feebly at the straw-covered floor as Tony swings a leg over his thighs and tears the back of his sweatpants down his hips. He can’t muster the strength to kick or to fight back anymore, staring blankly at the tin roof above as Tony spreads his legs and spits on his hole.

He feels the hot press of Tony’s cock against his rim, already wet with precome, and then Tony grabs him under the jaw and tilts his head back, licking hungry kisses against the side of his face.

“You’re  _mine_ ,” he growls, and then he shoves his way inside, filling Peter’s walls up too quickly and dragging a wounded moan from his lips. Tony is brutal and ravenous, fucking him with an urgency like he can’t get enough of Peter. “He would’ve hurt you,” Tony pants against his ear, kissing his throat almost tenderly, “he would’ve  _shot_ you like a dog. You begged him for help, and he was going to take you away from me.” Tony’s voice rises in anger, and he grinds his cock deep into Peter’s ass.

Peter opens his mouth to snap back, to deny this, but he finds no words on his tongue.

Taking advantage of his momentary compliance, Tony tilts his head to the side and slots their lips together, licking into his mouth messily as he fucks into him hard and fast, and Peter moans into Tony’s lips as his fingers curl helplessly against the floor with unwanted pleasure.

Tony sucks on his tongue, obscene wet noises between them and then he turns his head to the side so he can scrape his teeth over his jugular. Peter sucks in a breath when he sees the dead man’s body discarded on the floor not five feet away from them, his glassy blue eyes staring listlessly as Peter is fucked by his captor. He hears himself sobbing distantly and wonders if this time, Tony will kill him for good and leave the both of them to rot.

“That’s what they do, it’s what they  _all_ do.” Tony hisses poisonous words in Peter’s ear as he kisses him and fucks him. “They’ll only let you down, Peter. No one gives a shit about a  _broken whore_  from nowhere.” Peter cries out as he feels Tony driving his thick cockhead again and again into his prostate, fucking him deeper and harder than he’s ever had. “They don’t care, but  _I_ do,” he vows, his voice low and warm, sinking like a toxin into Peter’s skin. “No one’s ever gonna take care of you the way  _I_ will.”

Peter closes his eyes and hot tears drip down his face, and he inhales a shuddering gasp as Tony yanks his head back hard to kiss his lips again. He muffles Peter’s miserable little whine as he comes deep inside him, pumping his hips relentlessly as he rides out his orgasm and fills Peter up.

As he comes down, Tony continues to press his lips against Peter’s face, kissing away his tears and licking at his bloodied cheek, still rolling his hips slowly into his ass. “You’re mine,” Tony echoes quietly, his fingers loosening enough to let Peter slump to the floor.

Peter fades in and out of a daze, his body aching and exhausted where he lies. He whimpers as he feels Tony pull his softening cock out and stand back up, leaving a sticky wet trail of come between his thighs. Tony rolls his sweatpants up Peter’s hips again and pets his hair gently, like he’s soothing him. Peter closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at the dead man. He hears Tony’s footsteps receding slowly across the barn, and he waits for the gunshot to crack through the air.

It doesn’t come.

Tony’s voice coaxes softly, “Sweetheart.” Peter opens an eye hesitantly, and he looks to the door of the barn where Tony is waiting for him. “Peter, come.”

Trembling all over, Peter pushes himself up to his hands and knees, and he has to pull himself upright by clinging to the bales of hay lining the walls, but Tony is patient and just nods encouragingly at him.

“Sweetheart, come,” he says again lovingly.

Peter staggers forward, one foot in front of the other, and he doesn’t know how he makes it as far as he does. He gets to the mouth of the barn before he falls into Tony’s chest, his breathing shallow as the ordeal catches up to him, making his bones go weak and his muscles lax.

Gently wrapping strong arms around him, Tony picks him up like he weighs nothing and cradles him against his chest, kissing Peter’s forehead as he walks them back out through the woods. “So good for me,” he praises, “My perfect boy.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It breaks Tony’s heart, but he can tell that Peter’s not used to a partner knowing his body, has never had someone take the time to cherish every delicate inch of his skin and worship him the way he deserves. He intends to burn the memory of every previous fuck out of Peter’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNINGS AHOY:** Dub-con/non-con (rape). Gaslighting and continued kidnapping. As always, dead dove do not eat!!!!!
> 
> Proceed with caution.

Tony carries his boy back to the truck, cradling him close to his chest and murmuring soft assurances against the crown of his head. He helps him up the high steps into the cab and lets him sit up front, smiling when Peter stares at him, eyes wide with fright as Tony climbs into the driver’s seat next to him.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” he asks, petting the boy’s cheek.

Peter is still for a moment, the cogs turning in that clever head of his before he gives Tony a stiff, cautious nod.

“Good boy,” Tony praises, smiling fondly when Peter’s shoulders relax a bit.

It’s not yet mid-day, and the roads are still long and empty in front of them. Tony turns the ignition and he pulls them back onto the highway, occasionally glancing aside at Peter to give him an affectionate smile. He is everything Tony could have dreamed of.

When they stop for lunch, Peter is quiet and compliant, letting Tony press food into his hands. He even eats it without scathing retort, hunger outweighing his usual snark momentarily, nervous brown eyes darting up to Tony’s in between bites.

The boy is still shell-shocked and Tony regrets that he had to scare him, but he can’t say he minds this timid, frightened version of Peter either. He’s _sweet_ , like a little bird, shying away from Tony’s touch but quivering resignedly underneath his fingers when Tony forces him down across his lap, petting his hair and telling Peter to get some rest if he’s tired.

Peter doesn’t sleep - Tony can feel the boy’s quick, erratic breath against his stomach as he drives on and he doesn’t miss the faint nervous twitch of Peter’s closed eyelids, but he doesn’t say anything to him. Tony occasionally brushes his hair out of his face and he hums along to the radio, content to just drive and enjoy Peter’s company. 

He makes good time on his route. They travel through three states with only one more pitstop, more than making up for their little detour. Halfway through Nebraska, Tony lets Peter use an empty, run-down rest stop, and as they're walking back to the truck, a silver minivan parks across the lot.

A young mother and two children tumble out, laughing and yelling as they make their way towards them. Peter's eyes widen, but instead of bolting or even hoping to capture discretely the woman’s attention, he just stares ahead at the ground and follows back to the truck, the perfect picture of obedience.

Tony's heart swells with pride in his chest. "You did so well, Peter," he tells him, locking the doors shut behind them. Peter flinches. He winds his fingers through soft brown hair and noses along his jaw, kissing the boy's throat reverently. "I think this deserves a reward."

To his delight, Peter doesn't protest or push him away - he just blinks dewey dark eyes up at him and nods.

"That's my boy," Tony says fondly, kissing his soft lips.

Peter is wordless as they drive the next few miles, and when Tony pulls off into a commercial travel station, he stares in confusion.

"Come on pet," Tony coaxes. "We're going to get you cleaned up." There are at least three other semis in the well-lit parking lot, and a little wrinkle forms between Peter's brows as he gives Tony another adorable, confused look. "You're going to be good for me, aren't you, Peter?" Tony asks him in a cool voice.

Peter's breath hitches in his throat but he says nothing. That won't do.

Tony sighs and closes the distance between them. He cups Peter's cheek in his palm - a gentle reminder - a little yelp escapes the boy and he shakes underneath Tony's touch, but he doesn't pull away. " _Aren't_ you?"

"Yes," Peter says breathlessly, his voice cracked from disuse. "I'll be good." Tony barely bites back on a groan, he _adores_ Peter docile like this.

He smiles and releases him. "Good boy. C’mon.” He opens the door and takes Peter by the hand, leading him out into the parking lot. The night air is sticky and humid as it presses in around their lungs, a physiological reminder of the world that exists beyond the air-conditioned cab of an 18-wheeler semi-truck. He leads Peter by the back of his neck, fingers squeezing just tight enough to collar him.

There’s no need to worry though. Peter is _perfect_. He glances at the cashier - a skinny redheaded teenager hunched over the far end of the counter. She doesn’t look up from her phone as they walk past, and Peter doesn’t say a word to her.

When Tony stops in front of a kiosk machine, Peter blinks at Tony, then looks curiously at the faded screen. As Tony feeds crisp ones into the machine, he feels the boy go rigid as a board next to him and he smiles assuringly. “Just cleaning you up a little, darling. You’ve made such a mess.” He gently frees a matted clump of mud from Peter’s unkempt curls, letting his fingers linger at the base of his skull.

Peter follows, sweet as a lamb, to the back of the travel station where there's a narrow hallway of private showers. Tony punches in the code for their reserved shower and gently tugs Peter in, laughing at the ever-curious way the boy takes in the clean beige tiles, the stack of neatly folded towels waiting by the sink.

“You didn’t think I’d take you to some back alley and hose you off, did you?” he asks, pulling his shirt over his head and toeing off his boots.

Peter pauses, blinking at Tony. “No,” he says shyly, his eyes drifting down. Tony smirks, but as soon as he steps forward into Peter’s space, the boy’s eyes go wide and alarmed again.

“It’s okay,” Tony murmurs, putting his arms around Peter’s waist, effectively pinning his arms to his sides as he slowly lifts the hem of his oversized tee shirt, revealing delicate, soft pink skin. The bruises from his former clients are already fading to nothing. “You’re okay.”

And Peter nods and lets him strip him naked. Tony tries not to look too smug as he pushes him into the shower. He wants to savor Peter’s body in the light, so Tony starts off gentle, taking Peter by the arms and turning him this way and that under the shower spray.

Tony hums to himself, brushing Peter’s wet hair out of his face. The poor thing looks like a wet puppy, staring up at him with big, dark eyes, and Tony can’t help but to laugh and press a fond kiss to his forehead. “Sweet boy,” he says, and the tense line of Peter’s shoulders relaxes just a bit.

He lathers soap between his palms and cleans Peter carefully, rubbing the dirt and blood from his face and his palms, soothing the raw bruised skin of his wrists. He is gorgeous - the most beautiful thing Tony’s ever seen in his life. His skin blooms pink under the warm shower, bruises fresh and old alike painting a mosaic of jutting ribs and bite marks across his body. 

Peter is quiet and pliable the whole time, never resisting - just lets Tony manhandle him around and clean his body. When Tony goes to his knees, Peter stiffens a bit but doesn’t show any defiance - even inches his feet apart for him.

Tony takes his time playing with Peter’s cock, laving it gently and teasing the pretty pink head with his thumb. “How many men would touch you here?” Tony asks, tamping down the possessive anger that wells in him when he thinks about the johns who’ve had Peter before him.

“Some,” Peter says, blinking water out of his eyes. “Sometimes they liked touching me, j- just like this.”

Tony grits his teeth and his fingers dig into the soft meat of Peter’s thighs. “They’ll never have you _‘like this_ ’,” he says derisively.

He intends to burn the memory of every previous fuck out of Peter’s head.

He starts by impaling Peter on his fingers, nice and slow, easing the way with his tongue. He keeps going patiently, fucking him on his fingers until Peter is slumped against the wall, cheek pressed against the tiles as he cries and moans, dragged over the edge of his shuddering orgasm. When Tony’s done, he kisses every inch of Peter’s skin, savors the waning staccato of his heartbeat under his lips, bites down when he meets the boy’s defeated expression.

He tells Peter how beautiful he is, how good he’s been and how he’ll never want for anything again, and he presses him flat against the slick walls and pushes his cock inside. The boy’s mouth drops open in a soundless gasp, his fingers scrabbling uselessly at the wall. Tony eases his length in inch by inch, and with sweet brown eyes hooded from exhaustion, Peter almost looks willing.

Pressing himself flat against Peter’s back, Tony wraps his fingers around the boy’s bruised hips and sinks in to the hilt, groaning into the nape of his neck. “Fuck, gorgeous,” he grunts, his hips bucking with less restraint now, crushing Peter hard up against the wall. “Always so _tight_ for me, angel, you love taking my cock, don’t you?”

Peter finally lets out a ragged sob when Tony wrests his arm around his throat and yanks him back, bouncing him on his cock.

Despite his miserable cries, Peter’s body betrays him through all of it. His own pink cock smacks against his belly as he’s violated again, wet lips parted as he gasps for air like a drowning man. Tony squeezes his arm just a bit, just to remind Peter he could smother his life if he wanted to -- Peter’s toes curl against the wet tile and his cock dribbles precome as if on command.

Tony winds his fingers through Peter’s wet hair and tilts his head back as he fucks him, leaving open-mouthed, hungry kisses across his face. Every whimper and moan Peter makes only fuels the possessive fervency in him, and when Tony finishes, he buries himself deep in Peter’s ass with a muffled grunt. He kisses and licks into Peter’s mouth, stealing the air from his lungs until the boy is shuddering and jerking under his fingers, coming with a soundless scream into Tony’s palm.

Peter sags weakly against the wall, his hole still spasming around Tony as he pulls out, clutching at him like it can’t bear to let his cock go. Chuckling, Tony collects him into his arms and smooths his damp hair out of his eyes. “Good boy. Hold on just a little longer, Peter,” he murmurs, and the boy doesn’t say anything, just holds himself up against the shower wall obediently, soft brown eyes fluttering shut.

Tony sinks to his knees and squeezes and pinches his full ass, digging his thumbs into the swollen pink rim of him and spreading him open. Peter makes a wounded noise, but Tony ignores it and delves in again with his tongue.

He moans as he licks his come out of Peter’s hole, relishing the weak little whimpers Peter makes. The boy twitches his hips feebly, almost like he can’t decide whether to fight or succumb to Tony’s filthy licks and kisses - although pinioned between the shower wall and his rapist, Peter can only struggle so much.

The sucking noises of Tony’s mouth against his hole echo wet and depraved around the small room, the spray of the showerhead hardly enough to obscure them. Peter tries to jerk away when Tony pinches the round swell of his cheek, and Tony laughs and leaves one last affectionate, filthy kiss on his abused hole. “You taste so good, filled up with my come,” Tony tells him.

He hears Peter moaning something, but it’s muffled and soft. He pulls Peter’s head upright and hears him slurring, “...no more, no more,” his voice tremulous and fatigued.

Tony’s chest wells with fondness for the sweet thing. “It’s alright, angel, you’ve done so well.” He reaches up and twists the shower faucet off, and he picks Peter up in his arms with ease. The boy’s fingers twitch against his chest and, to Tony’s astonishment, he winds his arms around Tony’s neck.

He rewards Peter with another kiss and sets him down on the wooden bench, draping a fluffy towel over his hair.

Peter blinks sluggishly up at him before he starts to slowly dry himself off. He takes the pile of Tony’s clothes and dresses himself, his movements a little unsure but less terrified now.

When he’s done, Tony can’t resist pulling the boy into his arms and kissing his soft lips again. Peter lets out a little gasp but he obediently lets Tony in. With an approving moan, Tony traces his fingers over the soft expanse of Peter’s body - the gradual dip of his collarbones under a too-large shirt and the divot at the base of his spine, and Tony marvels that this is all his. “Come, sweetheart,” he murmurs against Peter’s mouth.

Tony leads him with a gentle hand on the small of his back. He gets a bag of Skittles and a cup of coffee, and the redheaded girl behind the cash register smacks her gum and doesn’t look up at them once. Peter’s eyes linger on the girl, and Tony waits for him to do something stupid, but he just blinks and looks down at the packet of Skittles, silent and well-behaved.

“Two eighty-nine,” the redheaded girl says, hiding a yawn behind her hand.

Tony hands over the money and thanks her, and taking their purchases in hand, he walks back out to the lot. Peter follows behind without needing to be asked.

“Here,” Tony says, tossing the candy to Peter who catches it with a startled look. He smiles at Peter’s stricken expression. “For being good,” he explains, and Peter’s face flushes pink, but he doesn’t pick a fight this time.

He lets Peter sit up front again and the boy sits close to the window, watching him cautiously. Tony turns the engine over and the semi rumbles to life around them, an encapsulated world that feels so isolated from the outside.

He looks aside at Peter and cards his fingers through his still-damp hair. “We’re going to be driving through the night. Go to sleep, love. You’re safe, I promise.”

Peter gives him a _look_ \- his eyes a little reminiscent of the fiery anger he’d stolen away - but it quickly fades into resignation. He looks down at his lap and plays with the plastic edge of his Skittles packet, then he nods.

Satisfied, Tony drives on out of the lot. As they pick up speed on the on-ramp, the doors automatically lock with a loud _click_ , and Peter flinches. Tony watches him out of the corner of his eye - it takes Peter awhile to relax again. He stares out the large passenger side window, gazing up at the dark treeline and occasionally craning his head so he can see the stars emerging from the black sky.

Eventually though, his exhaustion catches up with him - he’s had a long day. He nods off slowly, his head drooping onto his chest, startling awake anytime the blinding sweep of passing cars fills the rearview mirrors.

After a few instances of this, Tony chuckles and reaches across the cab, petting the boy’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, you wanna go back and lay down on the cot?”

To his surprise, Peter jerks awake, fully alert. “No,” he says firmly, though his eyes widen incrementally like he expects Tony to lash out at him.

With a reassuring smile, Tony nods at him. “That’s fine, Peter,” he says patiently. It’ll take some time to train the fear out of him, but if Peter’s development over just the last day is any indicator, he’s well on his way. Besides, he’s a clever thing, a quick learner. “Lay down. The headlights won’t bother you so much,” he says, patting at his thigh.

Peter shakes his head. “No, I’m alright,” he says with uncertainty.

“Sweetheart,” Tony says, letting a stern edge creep into his voice, “lie down.”

Clever as always, Peter takes his cue this time. He tugs at the seatbelt for slack and carefully draws his bare feet up onto the cab seat, curling up in a little ball on his side. As small as he is though, even coupled with the large interior of the cab, Peter looks uncomfortably cramped on his side, his neck cricked awkwardly down into his chest to avoid touching Tony’s thigh.

He has to laugh at the boy’s shyness. Eyes still fixed on the dark road ahead, Tony taps at Peter’s shoulder. “C’mon baby,” he coaxes, “you’ll hurt your neck sleeping like that.”

With some encouragement, Peter hesitantly lifts his head and rests it on Tony’s thigh, and he calms him with gentle fingers through his hair, untangling the damp mess of curls and massaging his scalp. Despite the boy’s reservations, he falls asleep within minutes, his breathing warm and even against Tony’s skin.

When he’s sure that Peter’s in a deep enough sleep, Tony flicks on the radio at a low volume and hums along to a local station, enjoying the soft lull of repetitive chords blanketing the otherwise still night. He drives on, feeling more invigorated and alive than he has in years. As they pass by sleepy towns and roadside attractions, he glances down now and then, hardly daring to believe that Peter is real and that he’s Tony’s.

He keeps petting the boy’s soft hair long after he’s fallen asleep, a thrill of excitement coursing through him as he imagines their life - he’ll take Peter to see sights he never could’ve _dreamed_ of before, show him a world beyond his muted existence servicing truck drivers for barely enough rent money.

And to say nothing of the sex - it breaks Tony’s heart, but he can tell that Peter’s not used to a partner knowing his body, has never had someone take the time to cherish every delicate inch of his skin and worship him the way he deserves.

It’s this resolve that takes Tony’s train of thought through the past days, and he relives their first meeting and when he’d picked Peter up, his heart racing with residual adrenaline.

His cock slowly hardens as he imagines undressing Peter again, kissing the last of his clients’ bruises away and leaving his own marks in their place. He thinks about eventually teaching Peter to ride him once the boy’s resistance is broken down enough. Visiting his memories of Peter only increases his cock’s interest though, and he curses under his breath as he stiffens fully, reaching down to adjust himself as carefully as he can without disturbing Peter from his sleep.

Despite his best efforts, Peter blinks drowsily, his dark eyelashes fluttering as he stirs. Taking in his surroundings, he stiffens, warm breath exhaling over the unmistakable bulge of Tony’s cock against his cheek.

Curious, Tony keeps his eyes on the road, pretending he hasn’t noticed Peter waking up. He _hopes_ he’ll go back to sleep, hopes that he can at least trust Tony enough at this point not to hurt him at his most vulnerable - but what Peter does is far beyond what he would have dared to dream.

Tony very nearly jerks the steering wheel when he feels a warm, wet suction over the shape of his clothed cock. He looks down in amazement at where Peter’s mouthing over his length, his movements slow and deliberate like he’s still shaking off the dregs of sleep.

Slender fingers creep underneath the waistband of Tony’s jeans and cautiously, like he’s waiting to be reprimanded, he takes Tony’s cock out, holding the fat weight of it in the curl of his fingers. Peter lowers his head and mouths over Tony’s cock, his lips just barely ghosting over his length like he’s exploring it, actually familiarizing himself with it.

“Sweetheart,” Tony starts, his voice low, but he cuts himself off with a groan as Peter suddenly seals his wet lips around the head and suckles at him gently. It stirs a piercing hunger in the pit of his stomach, watching this angelic boy suck on his cock like it’s all he wants to do. He tries again. “Peter…”

Peter blinks sleepily up at him, and meets his gaze, and Tony thinks he sees something like adoration in those dark sweet eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://peterparkers7evilexes.tumblr.com/).


End file.
